


Summer Wine

by QuietArtemis



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dependence - Freeform, M/M, Mildly Unhealthy Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Recovery, but it all gets better in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietArtemis/pseuds/QuietArtemis
Summary: Percival is found and recovers under Newt's care. Newt is fascinated by the man and falls in love too hard and too fast. They both need one another to push through their struggles - Newt to fix his loneliness and Percival to deal with the trauma. What will become of them?





	Summer Wine

It was impossible to tell how much time has passed. The cell was always semi-dark. Days and nights turned without notice since there were no windows Percival could use to watch the moon and sun crossing the sky. Hours, days, weeks, perhaps even months bled into one, endless cycle.

Most days, he was left alone. Not a single soul would visit him nor would he hear human speech. Thankfully, he wasn’t deprived of all sensations - a candle would burn in a corner of tight cell. It was enchanted to glow indefinitely, unless Grindelwald decided to punish him for misbehavior. While Graves didn’t particularly mind the darkness, it was gradually making him go insane after a while and he’d see things in the corner of his eyes that weren’t there.

Or maybe they were?

Percival’s hearing was blessed by constant noise of some sort of machinery. It consisted a low, rhythmic hum and puffing of steam. Where was he? He couldn’t really tell. The sound of the machine was both a good and a bad thing. Some days, he was happy he’s not about to lose his hearing or go insane due to auditory deprivation and other times, the white noise was getting on his nerves, making him want to scream.

Grindelwald and his supporters’ visits were the only things to signify the passing of time.

The dark wizard would come to gloat about his achievements. A trait of a megalomaniac for sure, and the gloating was definitely aimed to annoy Graves. It did, at first. He could only helplessly listen to the man’s crimes and suffering of innocent wizards, witches and no-majs. It cut to the bone to know how much evil this man has done wearing Percival’s face.

In due time, Graves let go of the anger and listened to Grindelwald’s stories to estimate how much time could have passed and what were the current events. Percival was very  weakened from malnourishment and misuse of muscles, but his mind remained always sharp.

The supporters did more than just talk.

They’d come in, smirking evilly. Sometimes, they’d bring various items to torment Percival with. Other times, their bare hands and wands were enough to make him scream in agony. Sometimes, they’d leave him behind, broken and bleeding while on other occasions, Percival’s skin was unblemished, but the man himself was catatonic or unconscious from psychological tortures.

The problem begun when they stopped coming. Graves was relieved at first that they finally left him alone, but it was disconcerting after a while as more time has passed. He was abandoned without food or water. Grindelwald kept him alive for a long time and Percival could only guess something happened. Or, perhaps, he was no longer useful to them, so he was left to rot away in his cell.

Time passed and passed. Percival was firmly stuck in the cell with no means of escaping. He was left behind without a single meal or a glass of water for who knows how long. Hunger and thirst became impossible to withstand. Graves’ stomach hurt and twisted, demanding food. Percival cried in desperation, screaming and begging for mercy, finally broken the way Grindelwald wanted him to be.

He lost consciousness after what felt like ages. He knew he was going to die now, but he was at peace with it. Looking forward to it, even. The idea of being free from this cell and his broken, aching body was a welcomed one.

It wasn’t death who came to him, however. While Percival was unconscious, he was found by one Newton Scamander. Graves didn’t see the moment when the magizoologist entered his cell nor did he even realize he was moved to a small yet cozy shed in the other man’s case. He felt none of it when Newt cleaned his body or shaved his ridiculously long, thick beard. Scamander tended to him for a long time, bringing him water and very liquid foods and tending to his wounds, old and new. Percival was stuck in a limbo and Newt patiently waited for him to wake up.

He was also oblivious to Scamander’s longing gaze and lingering touches. The magizoologist would often keep him company, talking about his creatures. He would also caress Percival’s pale cheeks, small nose and the cupid’s bow of his lips… He wished he could touch the director’s chest, but that would be too improper. Newt was fascinated with the unconscious man under his care. Even like this, Graves was nothing like the wizard impersonating him. There was a kindness around his features that no spell or potion could recreate.

Nearly two weeks after he was found, Percival finally opened his eyes. His gaze was blurry at first and he blinked rapidly. What struck him most were the unfamiliar surroundings.  _ It wasn’t his cell _ , he realized with a mix of dread and excitement. Was he free? Was he found? Or perhaps, Grindelwald returned and moved him to a new location to torment him some more?

“Hello,” rang out a soft, masculine voice. “It’s about time you woke up.”

Graves turned his head to the side and noticed a man, younger than himself but definitely taller. The stranger shyly avoided his gaze, but that was fine by Graves. Percival couldn’t get enough of the man’s beautiful, gentle features. 

“Are… are you an angel?” Percival mumbled, distraught by how hoarse his voice was from misuse. The man giggled quietly and Graves noticed a blush staining his cheeks.

“N-no. I’m Newt. Newt Scamander, a magizoologist,” the stranger explained. “I’ve found you in one of Grindelwald’s hideouts, you see? Your aurors and I raided the place and we found you. I took you under my care since Madam President was reluctant to involve your family while Grindelwald is on the loose. She knew you wouldn’t want to risk their safety.”

The director nodded slowly. Indeed, he would bite Seraphina’s head off if she did that.

“But you’re… You’re not safe, I must…” he said, trying to move up but his body felt heavy and weak. Newt rushed to his side, gently yet firmly pushing him to lay down again.

“It’s fine. I will be fine…” the magizoologist reassured. Percival was keenly aware of the man’s warm hands still touching him and the soft lips hovering so close above his own. With a sigh, Graves obeyed and rested against the pillows.

“I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me,” the director admitted quietly. Newt sent him a small smile, caressing his face with a familiarity of someone who must’ve done this many times before. Percival recalled none of them, but didn’t mind it as much as he knew he should have.

“You’re not making anyone suffer here,” Newt chuckled, picking up a bowl of thin soup to feed Percival with. “In fact, I’m happy quite to have you here. Even some of my creatures already took a liking to you, although they have yet to meet you properly.”

“Your… creatures?” Graves asked, frowning in confusion. 

“Yes! My wampus basically guards you day and night. See? that’s her,” Newt pointed at the floor near Percival’s bed. The director looked down and, indeed, there was a wampus, curled up on a small carpet. Her big, golden eyes looked straight at him and she yipped merrily. Graves wanted to scream at first, but swallowed his fear down. The creature didn’t seem violent at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. She got up and gave his face a wet lick, making the magizoologist laugh. Percival didn’t share the amusement, but Newt’s laugh was lovely so he kept quiet about it.

“The niffler and occamies take turns to sleep on your chest. I swear I tried to keep them away, but they’re very adamant on it. I think it’s their way of making sure you’ll get better soon,” Scamander smiled warmly, sitting by Percival’s side. He picked a spoon and offered the soup to Graves. The director wasn’t too keen on being fed like a little baby, but he knew his arms were too weak for now. He’d suffer through this humiliation with as much dignity as he could.

The soup was great, Percival realized, moaning at the sudden explosion of sensations in his mouth. The food tasted so rich on his tongue, he could nearly name each vegetable and spice in it. For the first time in forever he was able to fully embrace the taste. Grindelwald only ever brought him plain, nearly tasteless broth, so bland it was impossible to tell what was in it and Graves never asked about the ingredients anyways, knowing he’d regret it.

“Thank you,” Percival said weakly once the soup was gone. He felt very tired again as though eating alone exhausted him. Newt smiled sweetly at him in understanding.

“I can tell you’re tired. Please, sleep. I will be here when you wake up. Don’t feel freaked out if you have a creature sleeping on you. They won’t harm you and mean well,” the magizoologist reassured. 

Graves nodded sleepily, making a mental note to keep calm whatever happens next time he opens his eyes. Newt stayed with him until he fell asleep. Perhaps even a little longer than that, but Percival didn’t have to know that.


End file.
